


Stay

by so_shhy



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ghosts, M/M, Novelist!Victor, Victor has questionable morals, Yuri and Yakov are so done with Victor’s bullshit, Yuuri is a precious perfect creature, no dogs die but a dog is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 19:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11408661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_shhy/pseuds/so_shhy
Summary: If Victor had listed important facts about himself, he’d have started with things like, ‘bestselling fantasy author,’ ‘great hair,’ ‘extrovert,’ ‘dog lover,’ and (if nobody else was listening) ‘lonely’.Honestly, ‘a little bit psychic’ would have come pretty low down the list, even if he’d dreamed of actually telling anyone.Or:the one where Victor meets the ghost of a poodle.





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Tawabids for listening when I whined that my story wasn't working, reading the first (weird) draft, helpfully explaining exactly why it wasn't working, and betaing the result.

If Victor had listed important facts about himself, he’d have started with things like, ‘bestselling fantasy author,’ ‘great hair,’ ‘extrovert,’ ‘dog lover,’ and (if nobody else was listening) ‘lonely’.

Honestly, ‘a little bit psychic’ would have come pretty low down the list, even if he’d dreamed of actually _telling_ anyone.

He tried not to let his strange ability impact his life. A few flickers at the corner of his eye in graveyards, a whisper or two from the dead here and there that he steadfastly ignored. It was occasionally handy, when he had a premonition that told him to be out of the house when Yakov gave up on phone calls and came to hound him about deadlines in person. Mostly, it was irrelevant.

At least, it was irrelevant until he accidentally acquired the ghost of a poodle.

 

***

 

The first thing he noticed was Makkachin acting oddly.

It happened when he was out for a run with Chris, Milla and Georgi, listening to Georgi pant his way through the story of his latest heartbreak. Usually Makkachin liked to frolic around the four of them or trot at Victor’s heels. Occasionally she might encounter one of her doggy friends, upon which she would give a happy bark and bound off across the park to play for a little while until Victor called her back.

On this particular day, when Victor heard her give that bark, he barely paid attention. She was a friendly dog, well socialised, and he usually let her have free rein. It was only when he and the others were about to turn onto a path away from the grassy space where she was playing that he turned to call her to heel.

“Makkachin!” he yelled, looking around for her.

He spotted her as she darted out from behind a bush. She made a hairpin turn and scampered off in another direction, then stopped, front legs bent, tail wagging, the way she always did when she was playing catch with one of her friends and deciding which way to dodge next.

There was no other dog playing with her.

Victor blinked, confused. Then he realised that he was getting left behind. It wouldn’t do to miss the gossip. Right then, gossip was the only thing distracting him from the blank document where his next book should be.

“Makkachin!” he called again.

This time she obediently bounded back to him. Victor put on a burst of speed to catch up with the others, and put the incident out of his mind.

 

***

 

Twice a week, Victor went to the ice rink. It was a bizarre habit for someone who had the money to do absolutely anything he wanted, just a cheap daytime ticket to the public session, less money than he’d tip a bellboy for carrying his bag, but it was his, and he loved it. 

He’d been a gymnast all through high school, but he’d got bored with it by college. He’d been too distracted by the stories in his head to concentrate properly on his technique, which meant he’d lost at competitions. He hated losing.

Fortunately, the strength and balance he’d developed through gymnastics transferred pretty well to skating. Skating was fun and soothing, and nobody expected him to compete so he didn’t have to focus particularly. He could glide and spin on the ice while he worked out plots, and get his competitive kicks from vicious games of squash with Chris.

Fridays were for dreaming on the ice. Wednesday was the coffee-morning.

Victor wasn’t exactly _shallow_ , but he didn’t kid himself. He liked attention. He liked charming the full-time mums and intrepid elderly ladies who spent their Wednesday mornings learning the basics of skating, flirting harmlessly with them during the group lessons he didn’t need. He liked drinking the bitter, gritty coffee that came free with his ticket, and sharing his homemade, gluten free, vegan baked goods with the people who clustered around him. He wasn’t vegan, or gluten free, but plenty of the mums were and Victor wasn’t about to exclude anyone. It would reduce the numbers of his groupies.

After coffee he’d get a private lesson and actually learn something.

During his skating sessions he left Makkachin in the care of Arif, a widower who spent his days sitting in the park that surrounded the rink building, feeding the birds and watching the squirrels. Victor suspected that those few hours with a friendly poodle were the highlights of Arif’s week. Rain or shine, he was always there every Wednesday and Friday.

It had been a successful Wednesday. Victor’s palaeolithic raw cocoa brownies had gone down well. Judging by the giggles of a pair of retirees, his new workout pants showed off his ass beautifully. He’d also mastered a spin that he’d been working on for weeks. He left the ice rink feeling cheerful, retrieved his things from the locker, and went to collect Makkachin. The voicemail from Yakov asking for a progress report barely dampened his spirits.

As he strolled along the leafy paths he could see Makkachin in the distance, running in a wide open space on the hillside, sometimes towards Arif as he tossed a tennis ball for her, sometimes around in circles in that strange, playful way that he’d seen before, as though she was chasing something Victor couldn’t see.

But he _could_ see something – the faintest flicker, like light reflecting from a river. He couldn’t tell if it was a trick of the scudding clouds, or even just his imagination, but it made him frown. When Makkachin ran up to him and tried to put her muddy paws on his new pants he took hold of her and checked her over. There seemed to be nothing wrong with her, but he was unsettled nonetheless.

 

***

 

The next time was impossible to ignore.

It had been a long morning spent staring gloomily at his laptop. At lunchtime he decided to ignore all of the impulse-bought food in his fridge and take a stroll to pick up something at a market stall. He called Makkachin over and rubbed her ears while he clipped on her leash.

“Let’s get some fresh air.”

They went to the market, where Victor acquired a pulled pork sandwich and Makkachin’s big, hopeful eyes won her some scraps from the stall keeper. It was while they were walking back, and Victor was busy wiping his fingers on a napkin, that Makkachin gave her happy greeting bark again.

Victor stopped, staring, as she wagged her tail at nothing and sniffed excitedly at thin air. Then the thin air flickered, as though a rippling veil had suddenly overlaid the cracked concrete. He frowned, trying to force his eyes to focus. The longer he looked, the clearer the shape became.

“Come on,” he muttered to whatever mysterious thing inside himself allowed this to happen. He closed his eyes and counted to three. When he opened them again he could see it, colourless and semi-transparent but perfectly distinct. Another poodle. A ghost dog.

 

***

 

Makkachin’s eyes said as plainly as words, _he followed me home, can we keep him?_

“No,” Victor told her firmly.

The ghost dog was sitting in the middle of Victor’s open-plan apartment, looking innocent and tiresomely adorable. He was a toy poodle, his coat trimmed teddy bear style just like Makkachin’s. He seemed to be healthy and well cared for, if Victor ignored the fact that he was dead.

Victor opened the front door.

“Out,” he ordered.

He could deal with being psychic. Being haunted by a dog was going too far.

The little poodle gave him a sorrowful look and trotted outside into the corridor. Makkachin whined.

Victor closed the door and went back to his desk. He sat staring at his laptop screen, trying to concentrate on the outline of his next book and ignore Makkachin, who was lying on the couch, head propped on her paws, looking at him with reproachful dark eyes.

After a while he did manage to get back into the swing of writing and get some words on the page, though he was gloomily aware that he’d probably delete it all later. Once he had a solid five hundred words he let himself look up at Makkachin again to see if she’d forgiven him.

She was curled happily around the ghost dog.

Victor sighed. Apparently the dog could walk through walls. There was no hope of keeping him out of the apartment.

Besides, he really was adorable.

 

***

 

Victor called him Ghost, because he had to call him _something_.

Ghost was no trouble. He didn’t need feeding or grooming. He didn’t leave spectral messes. He made no noise whatsoever. He was always happy to play and cuddle with Makkachin, and he liked to lie with his insubstantial head resting on Victor’s foot while Victor tried to write – tried, failed, sighed, and started over again, with less enthusiasm every time.

When Yakov called a few days later, Victor was so desperate for something else to do that he actually picked up the phone.

“I hope you have a good excuse for why your outline isn’t in my inbox,” Yakov said, without even a hello.

“I have writer’s block,” said Victor, injecting maximum tragedy into his voice. “Everything I do is terrible. All the stories in the world have already been written.”

“If you’re struggling, give me a sequel to one of your standalones. Half the work’s done for you. You’re a professional. You can do it in your sleep.”

“You have no soul.”

“Stop being dramatic. You like writing sequels.”

“I don’t want to write a sequel,” declared Victor. “I want to write something new.”

“Alright, then write something new. Last time we talked you pitched seven good ideas. Pick one, sit down at your computer, get some words on the page.”

“You’re destroying my art.”

“I’m not asking for art, Vitya. I’m asking for a bestseller. Come into the office tomorrow. We’ll talk face to face.”

“I’m busy,” Victor lied.

“Alright, Friday.”

“I’m busy all week.”

“Busy doing what?” snapped Yakov, exasperated. “You have no responsibilities. If you’re not writing, you do nothing but buy clothes, go to parties and spoil that dog of yours.”

“I’m in the middle of a very important project for a close friend of mine,” said Victor. He glanced down at Ghost, who was close (in that he was sitting on Victor’s shoes) and a friend (in that he was generally friendly). Ghosts were troublesome and irritating, but at least Ghost was something _different_. “I’ll come in when it’s over.”

“When will it be over? You have a deadline.”

“This is more important,” said Victor, and hung up the phone.

“You,” he told Ghost, “are my new project.”

It was what you were supposed to do with ghosts, after all. Victor knew the rules. He had read and watched the narrative a hundred times over in different forms. People encountered a ghost, they investigated, they read old newspapers or held séances, they found out the ghost’s story, and they put it to rest.

Usually the ghosts in the stories did more terrorising and less tail-wagging, but the principle was the same. Victor’s priority was to solve the mystery of the ghost dog. The book would have to wait.

 

***

 

He got started on his project that same afternoon.

The first step, obviously, was to identify Ghost’s owner. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot to go on. He couldn’t exactly put up ‘found’ posters.

After thinking it over for a little, he tried writing the alphabet out on twenty-six post-it notes and sticking them to the floor. Makkachin trotted over, intrigued, and Victor had to catch her and cuddle her so she didn’t dislodge the post-its.

Ghost couldn’t dislodge them. Victor gave him a minute to inspect them, then asked, enunciating clearly, “Who is your owner?”

Ghost looked up at him, then back at the post-its. Victor waited, hopefully scribbling down the order in which Ghost sniffed at the letters; but if the sniffing spelled out a message it wasn’t one Victor could decipher. After an unproductive half hour Victor had to conclude that ghost dogs were no more able to spell than their living counterparts.

After an additional hour, Victor also concluded that Makkachin looked adorable with post-its stuck to her. The afternoon wasn’t a total waste of effort; he got some great material for his Instagram account.

 

***

 

“If you found a dog,” said Victor, “and you didn’t know who it belonged to, how would you get it back home?”

Yuri, Victor’s little firecracker of a half-brother, made a semi-comprehensible growl down the phone.

“What did you say?”

“I said _I’m sleeping_ , you creep. Ugh, what do you want? Did you call me at one in the morning to ask weird brainteasers?”

“Oh, oops,” said Victor, grinning to himself. He made a point of often forgetting about the time difference to Moscow and calling in the middle of the night. It was entertaining, and If Yuri had really wanted not to be woken up, he could’ve put his phone on silent overnight. “Never mind, teenagers are supposed to stay up late. Now, about the dog?”

“What are you talking about, dogs? I don’t know. Take it around the neighbourhood and see if someone recognises it.”

“Hmm… what if it was an invisible dog?”

“An invisi… How the fuck did I end up related to you?”

The line went dead. Victor sighed and scrolled on through his contacts to find someone else to ask. Then he paused, brightening, as an idea struck him. While nobody could recognise Ghost, it was possible that walking around the neighbourhood would work. Perhaps Ghost knew the way back to his home.

 

***

 

The next morning, Victor rose early and delighted Makkachin by clipping her leash to her collar without even bothering to switch on the coffee maker.

“We’re going for a walk,” he told the two dogs.

As he led the way out into the street he felt energised, full of enthusiasm to solve the mystery. It was so much better than another day spent staring at his non-existent book.

He had decided to approach his task logically. He had first noticed ghost’s presence in the park where he went running, on the hillside by the ice rink, and in the street near the food market. The park and the market were both close to Victor’s home; therefore, possibly Ghost was a local dog. His own neighbourhood was the best place to start.

They strolled in a lazy loop around the streets, stopping for Victor to pick up coffee at a cart, and for Makkachin to sniff every interesting lamppost. Now and then Victor paused at a corner and told ghost, “Go home. Go on, take us to your home.” Ghost just sat down and waited, eyes wide, tongue poking out from his doggy grin.

After a couple of hours the sun was high in the sky and Victor was wishing he’d opted for a t-shirt. In need of some distance from the hot traffic fumes, he headed to the park with its cool pools of shade and let Makkachin off her leash.

It was halfway along a tree-lined path that Ghost’s whole demeanour changed. He raised his head and looked around. If poodle ears could prick up, his would have. Then he rocketed off across the grass, with Makkachin in pursuit.

Victor set off after them. He didn’t hurry particularly; Makkachin was still in sight. As he strolled across the grass he watched her scamper up to one of the benches that were scattered at intervals along the paths. Tail wagging, she put her paws up on it to greet its single occupant.

Ghost was a couple of feet away from her. He was scrabbling frantically at the air, moving this way and that, pressing forwards, trying to get closer, but failing. It was as though there was an invisible barrier in his way, encircling the man on the bench.

Victor approached, looking curiously at the man, who was now busily petting Makkachin. If this was Ghost’s owner, he was the perfect example of a person who matched his dog. Just like Ghost, he was small and wide-eyed and adorable. Victor hurriedly suppressed some thoroughly inappropriate desires.

As Victor came to a halt, Ghost looked up at him, gave a pitiful silent whine, and returned to his scrabbling.

The man was now nose-to-nose with Makkachin, talking fondly to her in Japanese.

“Hello,” said Victor to the top of his tousled head. “I’m Victor. I’m sorry about my dog.”

The man’s head jerked up. “Victor?” he said. Behind his blue-rimmed glasses, his eyes were surprised.

“Yes. And this is Makkachin,” said Victor. “She’s not usually so affectionate with strangers.” He ran his hand through his hair and gave the well-practised head-tilt that let his bangs fall just right. It was automatic to flirt. The guy was very cute, in a geeky and awkward way. “She must think you’re very special. I can call her away if she’s bothering you.”

For once he was thankful for all the book launches and interviews Yakov had made him do. Without that media practice he would never have been able to maintain his smile while Ghost clawed at the invisible barrier, whining so desperately that Victor could hear the tiniest echo of it, just on the edge of what was audible.

“She’s not bothering me,” said the man.  “She’s beautiful.” He rubbed Makkachin’s ears. “You’re a lovely dog, huh, Makkachin?”

Makkachin wagged her tail furiously while the man petted her with expert hands.

“You’re good with her,” said Victor. “Do you have a dog?”

The man shook his head. The sudden sadness in his eyes went a long way to confirming Victor’s suspicions.

Victor glanced around and then touched his lips in theatrical consideration. “I think you’ve picked the best bench in the park to sit,” he said. “What are you reading?”

“It’s homework,” said the man. He was beginning to look a little flustered. His hands were still petting Makkachin, but he no longer had his full attention on her. He was looking at Victor sideways, as though he didn’t want to be too obvious about it.

Victor rolled his shoulders and stretched. He was rewarded by the way the man’s eyes flicked over his body and away.

“What sort of homework?”

“I’m studying to be a vet.”

“That’s a wonderful career,” said Victor, beaming.

“Th-thank you?” said the man. His cheeks reddened with a charming blush.

Victor was thinking fast. He wanted to continue the conversation, but there were a couple of small problems. Firstly, Ghost’s scrabbling had turned to despairing silent howls and it was beginning to be more than he could bear. And secondly, it would probably come across as weird to interrogate a total stranger about a dead dog. Fortunately, the guy’s unsubtle reactions to Victor’s flirting had given him an easy opening for further contact.

“Well, we should get going,” he said. “But first, you should tell me your name.”

“Oh,” said the man, blushing more deeply. “It’s – uh – it’s Yuuri.”

“Yuri? That’s my brother’s name.”

“You spell it with two Us. Y-U-U-R-I.”

“Really?” said Victor. He got out his phone and typed in the name, then held it out to Yuuri. “Like that?”

Yuuri glanced at the screen. “Um. Yes?”

“Okay. Now put in your number.”

“What?”

Victor flicked his hair. “Give me your number,” he said, “so I can see you again.”

Yuuri’s mouth shaped an astonished O. After a beat of silence he stuttered, “Are- are you asking me out?”

“I’m asking for your number. But I’m definitely going to ask you out when I call.”

“Oh… uh… okay.”

Uncertainty plain on his face, Yuuri typed in his number and handed the phone back to Victor.

“Thank you,” said Victor. “See you soon!”

He gave a wave and walked on, with Makkachin trotting alongside him. When he glanced back he was relieved to see Ghost following, head down and radiating misery, but at least no longer caught up in the desperate, useless struggle to get to Yuuri. Victor slowed a little to let him catch up. “I’m sorry, boy,” he murmured. He wished he could pick Ghost up, or at least rub his ears the way Yuuri had rubbed Makkachin’s, but Ghost didn’t have ears to rub or a body to pet. He wasn’t so easy to comfort.

 

***

 

Later that day, Makkachin was lying on the rug in Victor’s living room, a big, fluffy, huggable heap of dog. Victor stretched out next to her and put his arms around her.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he could see Ghost’s hopeless attempts to get to Yuuri. Whenever he let his mind wander, he imagined Makkachin stuck on the other side of a barrier, her spirit trying to get to him but always failing.

“We’re going to fix this for Ghost,” he told her. “It’s my project. I’m not going to stop until we figure it out.”

 

***

 

Victor sent Yuuri a friendly text later that evening, and a couple more the next day. Yuuri was slow to text back – from the stilted replies, Victor got the distinct impression that he was agonising over every word – but they eventually arranged to meet up again in the park at the weekend. It was, Victor thought, about the right timescale, not too pushy, not too laid back, but it had the unfortunate side-effect of giving him a whole Friday with no way to move forward with his mystery.

The ice rink took up the morning, but he couldn’t skate forever. When he got back he tried researching Yuuri online, and found a Facebook page with a fuzzy photo and absolutely nothing else publically available. That at least gave him a last name, but googling Yuuri Katsuki turned up nothing but a few mentions of junior figure skating competitions in Japan. It would fit with Makkachin’s second encounter by the rink, he supposed, but he still couldn’t be sure if it was the same Yuuri.

He needed more information. Unfortunately, saying, “Hey, add me on Facebook,” had _I’m stalking you_ written all over it.

Victor sighed, opened his meagre chapter outline, closed it again, and flung himself down on the sofa in a sulk. He was stuck and he was _bored._

 _Shopping and parties_ , Yakov had said. Fine. If that was all he had, that was what he would do.

It was the work of a moment to call Chris and arrange to meet later at some club that was supposed to be the next big thing. Then Victor headed out to spend an unreasonable amount of money on shoes.

 

***

 

Chris was already in the club when Victor arrived, sprawled in a neon pink furry chair in the VIP area, looking regal and unfairly fuckable, all long legs and toned abs. Eyeing him, Victor missed their days of no-strings hook-ups. They were off the table since Chris had got serious with the hottie architect who he’d been dating on and off for a few years. Daniel wasn’t exactly to Victor’s taste – stable, responsible, and a couple of years too old – but he worshipped the ground Chris walked on, and it seemed to make them both happy.

Chris ran his eyes up and down Victor’s outfit. Everything was new, not just the shoes; during his shopping trip, Victor had fallen in love with a military-style jacket, and had needed the perfect simple black pants and white shirt to go with it, subtly different from the dozens of white shirts and black pants he already owned.

“Not a bad look, Vitya,”

“Thanks. Where’s Daniel tonight?”

“He’s working,” said Chris. “But Milla is here with the new girl she keeps talking about, _and_ the creepy possibly-incestuous twin. Do you need a drink first, or shall we go to the dancefloor and pass judgement?”

“I need a drink,” said Victor firmly.

Chris followed him to the bar, casually letting slip the best of the gossip and scandalous stories about a huge range of people, some of whom Victor knew, but most of whom were celebrity friends of Chris’s. Victor had never bothered to find out exactly what Chris did for a living – something in PR – but whatever it was, it meant he knew everybody in the entire world and was on the VIP list of every club in town.

The night turned out to be enjoyable enough, as nights out went. The club had an infectious vibe, and Victor let himself dance until he barely cared what was going on inside his head. There were drugs that he refused and drinks that he didn’t, semi-nudity from almost everyone, and a 3am meal at a restaurant with dazzling city views, the kind of place that served truffle-glazed pheasant to work-hard-play-hard, cocaine-fuelled, disgustingly rich investments bankers. Chris knew the chef, of course.

And yet…

Victor sighed over his final cocktail of the night – the glass was set inside an artichoke, for some unfathomable reason – feeling boredom rise up around him like a shroud. At that moment, the only bright spot in his future seemed to be his walk in the park with Yuuri. At least it gave him some kind of sense of purpose – a kindly act he could do for someone else, even if that someone was just a dead dog.

 

***

 

Victor managed to drag himself out of bed by 11am. He showered off the alcohol that had oozed itself out of his pores while he slept, standing under the hot spray until he could peel his eyes open properly. Once he felt human he dried himself off and ate breakfast standing naked at the kitchen counter, while Makkachin inhaled her own breakfast and Ghost lapped ineffectually at a bowl of water. Then he dressed carefully and casually in slacks and a light V-neck sweater that showed off his collarbones, styled his hair, slipped on his sunglasses, and set off for the park.

Yuuri was sitting exactly where Victor had last seen him, still with a backpack and a pile of books, almost as though he hadn’t moved in the days since they last met.

The dogs bounded over. Just as before, Makkachin went straight to Yuuri and was rewarded with expert ear rubs. Just as before, Ghost came to a halt a few feet away. This time his scrabbles were less forceful. It was as though he knew that he wouldn’t be able to get closer. By the time Victor had made his way along the path to the bench, Ghost was lying at the edge of the invisible barrier, his head on his paws, watching Yuuri with a deep, longing sadness in his eyes.

As Victor approached, Yuuri looked up shyly at him.

“Hi again,” he said.

“Hi Yuuri. May I sit?”

“Oh – uh – please do!”

He hadn’t been doing homework, Victor noticed. The book he had set down on top of the stack beside him was the hardback of Victor’s newest novel.

“Makkachin’s happy to see you again,” said Victor. ”She must be able to tell that you particularly love poodles.”

“How did you know I love poodles?”

“Oh, just a guess,” said Victor, glancing over at Ghost. “ _I_ do, after all, and I think we’re kindred spirits.” He took off his sunglasses so he could give Yuuri his most dazzling smile. “I’d love to get to know you better, Yuuri. I want to hear everything about you.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. He looked halfway between terrified and hypnotised.

“I—there’s not much to tell. I’m just ordinary.”

“Start at the beginning. Where did you grow up?”

With plenty of coaxing from Victor, Yuuri stuttered his way through a description of a little town in Japan and the hot spring onsen his parents ran. Victor responded with stories of growing up in Saint Petersburg, of school and his home and walking his mother’s dog along the rivers and canals.

“Did you have a dog growing up, Yuuri?” he asked.

Yuuri’s rapt expression faltered. “Yes. We had a family dog,” he said.

Victor took another glance at Ghost, who had eyes only for Yuuri. That was not a family dog.

“What kind? A poodle?”

“Yes,” said Yuuri shortly.

Victor needed more information, but he somehow knew that pressing Yuuri further would get him nothing but one-word answers. Instead, he turned to the other question he’d been wanting to ask.

“Tell me what you think of the book.”

Yuuri smiled, suddenly looking far more comfortable. “He’s one of my favourite authors,” he said. “I don’t think it’s his best work, though. It feels a little bit uninspired.”

“Hmm,” said Victor. He wasn’t hurt. In fact, he was almost relieved. The book had got excellent reviews and was selling well, but he’d _felt_ uninspired as he crafted its complex characters, its smart plot, its original ideas. Boring, boring, boring. It was nice to know that someone in the world had noticed.

“It’s just not as genuine as some of his…” Yuuri began, and then trailed off. He looked at Victor. He flipped the book open to the inside back cover, where Victor’s face smiled glossily out from the flap of the dust jacket.

“Oh my gosh,” he said in a rush, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it! It’s great! It’s a fantastic book!”

“It’s fine,” said Victor. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“No, no, no, I wasn’t being honest! It’s really good, I love it! Oh god, I – I have to go!” He shoved his books hastily into a backpack and jumped to his feet. “Goodbye! I’m sorry!”

He hurried away along the path. Ghost followed him for a little way, then trotted back to lay his head dolefully on Victor’s shoe.

“Well,” Victor told Makkachin, “I messed that up.”

 

***

 

Yuuri didn’t answer Victor’s next few texts.

Victor wasn’t sure if Yuuri was embarrassed or just put off for some reason now he knew who Victor was. Whatever the reason, it was maddening. Victor was just as stuck with his project as he had been with his book.

In his efforts to track Yuuri down, Victor visited the bench in the park two days in a row. He stood on the path in his carefully chosen outfit, waiting while both dogs sniffed around for Yuuri’s scent. They came back to him, tails drooping, and spent the walk home trotting sadly at his heels.

He tried general research into ghosts, using everything from religious texts to internet clickbait, scribbling down his thoughts in his Cyrillic scrawl.

 

**_Why is there a barrier around Yuuri?_ **

  * _An aversion to the spirit world_
  * _Naturally psychic repellent_
  * _Wearing a religious symbol (not obvious – check for tattoos?)_
  * _Witches perform routine psychic self-defence_
    * _Is Yuuri a witch? (Wiccan??)_
  * _Arranges his shoes oddly before bed (WTF) (also, awkward to ask…)_
  * _Vibrating at the wrong frequency_
  * _Is Ghost EVIL?_
  * _Spirit-repelling herbs (Too much garlic? Cologne? Sniff him??)_
  * _Emotional issues??_



 

He made pages and pages of unhelpful notes, but he couldn’t lie to himself – it was just a way of filling time. Yuuri himself was the only real resource Victor had. Without him, Ghost’s problem was impossible to solve.

Meanwhile he avoided calls from Yakov, and occasionally stared at his half-hearted attempts at a chapter outline.

 

***

 

“Yurochka,” Victor asked his little brother over the phone – at a _perfectly_ reasonable hour in Moscow, because he wasn’t always an asshole – “how do you track down someone who doesn’t want to see you?”

“I don’t,” said Yuri shortly. “If someone doesn’t want to see me they can fuck off. You can fuck off too. You only call me when you have some moronic question. Don’t you have any actual friends?”

“You’re so sweet,” said Victor. “You’re mad because you miss me and you wish I paid more attention to you.”

“I _hate_ you!”

“Well, if you’re helpful and answer my question you won’t have to talk to me anymore. You were very helpful about the invisible dog. I did find his owner, thanks to you. That’s why you’re my favourite brother.”

Yuri huffed. “I’m your only brother, and you’re the weirdest person in the universe,” he said, but he sounded just a little bit pleased. “Fine, what’s this all about anyway?”

“I met a guy,” said Victor, “but he got embarrassed over a silly little thing and now he won’t return my calls.”

“You’re asking _me_ for advice on your love life?”

“You should know about these things. You watch a lot of romance shows.”

“Shut up! Ugh, fine. You have his number? You’re calling and he won’t pick up?”

“Yes. What should I do?”

“Stop calling,” said Yuri. “That’s just desperate. And pathetic. Find someone else to date.”

“I need to find him.”

Yuri’s voice was deeply suspicious. “Vitya… you’re not, like, _in love_ , or something?”

“No, but it’s important.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Yuri asked. Before Victor could answer, he hurried on, “I need to know what it feels like. There’s this boy…”

“Boy?” said Victor. “Tell me all about him!”

He shelved his own problems for the minute, and settled down to listen to the tale of Yuri’s crush on an exchange student, trying to give sensible, supportive advice, trying not to yell, “You’re a _baby_ , stay away from strange men,” and generally trying to be a not-terrible brother.

He thought he mostly succeeded at these small goals, and he hung up the phone feeling good about himself, though no closer to finding Yuuri.

 

***

 

Wednesday rolled around, and with it came the ice rink coffee-morning.

Victor arrived with plenty of time to tie his skates and chat with his unofficial fan club before the lesson began. Deep in conversation, he didn’t notice the various instructors skating out until one of the younger mums, Janet, nudged him and pointed.

“The new teacher’s quite a looker, isn’t he?”

Victor glanced over, scanned the ice disinterestedly, and then did an abrupt double-take. There was Yuuri, not twenty feet away.  After days of Victor wracking his brain for ways to track the man down, it was almost unbelievable to see him gliding across the ice, as large as life, effortlessly elegant on his skates. He looked subtly different from how he had in the park – still cute, but with an unexpected air of confidence. His glasses were missing. Victor couldn’t help staring as Yuuri did a quick circuit of the rink and some neat turns, flicking forwards to backwards with the grace of a dancer.

“Wow,” he said.

To his own surprise, he felt his heart thump in his chest. He ought to be excited to see Yuuri, of course, but it was odd to have the desire just to _look_ at him.

Janet giggled. “He’s your type, then, is he?”

Victor’s type usually ran to either beautiful party people he met at clubs or fellow writers with whom he could have heated debates and angry sex. Yuuri definitely didn’t belong in either category. Still, Victor knew how to take advantage of an opportunity when it presented itself.

“Oh yes, he’s lovely,” he said, trying for the misty-eyed, hopeful expression he’d learned from Makkachin begging for table scraps. “Do you think maybe I should go and talk to him?”

“It can’t hurt to try,” said Janet.

 As soon as the students were called out onto the ice, Victor skated over and tapped Yuuri on the shoulder. The resulting jerk of shock was quite entertaining.

“V-Victor!”

“Hello, Yuuri.”

“How did you… why did you… are you _following_ me?”

“Pure coincidence,” said Victor. “I’ve been coming here for over a year. Ask anyone.”

He waved to a group of women. They waved back enthusiastically.

“Hello Victor!”

“Hi Victor!”

“Nice shirt, Victor!”

“See? And what are _you_ doing here? Maybe _you’re_ following _me_. I am your favourite author, after all. Hmm… I’ve never had a stalker before.”

“No, no, no! I work here!” babbled Yuuri. “I just started! I didn’t know you’d be here!”

“I thought you were studying to be a vet. Did you _lie_ to me? That’s very suspicious.”

“I work part time! I didn’t- I’m- oh– it’s-”

Victor took pity on him. “I’m kidding! I’m so happy to see you again. I thought maybe I never would.”

This didn’t make Yuuri any more coherent. Fortunately, the lessons were starting. Victor said a cheerful goodbye and skated over to his own group, while Yuuri, scarlet-faced, made his way over to the beginners.

When the lesson was over Victor stayed on the ice to practise for a while, then gathered up his fan club and headed towards the café for coffee and gossip. As they made their way around the edge of the rink, Aleesha, one of his favourite retirees, patted him on the arm.

“He’s a pretty little thing, isn’t he? I wouldn’t kick him out of bed. He’s been watching you when you’re not looking.”

“I know.”

He glanced over at Yuuri and flashed him a wink. Yuuri spun around hastily and skated to the other side of the rink, where he became very engrossed in showing one of his students how to skate backwards.

“Don’t overwhelm him,” advised Aleesha. “He’s the shy type, and you’re quite a handful. Your problem is you think you can get everything you want just by fluttering your eyelashes.”

Victor grinned. He did think that, and he was usually right.

He took her advice and didn’t crowd Yuuri, simply offering him a bright smile and a wave on the way out.  As he rode the few stops towards home, he told Ghost, “Good news; I know where your master works, and I have a whole ice rink full of women who’ll help me to get another date with him.”

 

***

 

Victor was delighted to find that Yuuri had apparently given up on avoiding his texts.

He sent Yuuri a cheery message about how nice it had been to see him, and got an answer within a couple of hours. Yuuri awkwardly complimented him on his skating, asking how long he’d been learning. Victor babbled on for a little about his gymnastics background and asked Yuuri if he was the same Yuuri Katsuki who had skated as a junior in Japan. (He was.)

It was all very innocent, friendly small-talk. Over the next few days Victor interspersed his messages with pictures of Makkachin, trying his best to steer the conversation onto vaguely relevant tracks. Yuuri sent back enthusiastic responses and emojis that showed he had an appropriate appreciation of Makkachin’s beauty and intelligence, but he never responded with stories of his own ‘family dog’.

Victor _did_ manage to friend Yuuri on Facebook. The account was almost bare, obviously rarely used. Yuuri was tagged in plenty of photos by his friends, but posted almost none himself. Victor trawled for ages before he found what he was looking for – a picture posted more than five years earlier by a Mari Katsuki.

The family photo showed a tiny woman with Yuuri’s round face, a taller man, a young woman with short, messy hair, and a teenage Yuuri holding a little brown poodle.

Victor glanced from the picture to where Ghost was curled up against Makkachin’s fluffy stomach. Even though Ghost was colourless and translucent, it was unmistakeably the same dog.

In the picture, Yuuri was cuddling the dog close, and Ghost was looking up at him with pure canine love.

 

***

 

 “I’m making progress,” Victor told Yakov.

His latest page of scrawled notes sat on the desk in front of him.

 

**_How to find out more about Ghost_ **

  * _Contact Mari Katsuki (stalkerish?)_
  * _Meet Yuuri’s friends and ask them (too early)_
  * _Get Yuuri talking_
    * _Longer conversation over dinner (harder for him to run away!)_
    * _Fake some kind of trauma over Makkachin (no – low, even for me)_
    * _Admit to him that I see ghosts (hah - NO)_
    * _Loosen his inhibitions with alcohol… (has potential)_



 

“Progress with your outline?” demanded Yakov.

“With my project. For my friend.”

“Vitya, it’s been nearly two weeks. Do you not understand the phrase ‘publishing schedule’? Write your damn book!”

“I should have a breakthrough soon,” said Victor. “Tomorrow. Everything’s going according to plan.”

“And _then_ your outline?”

“Sure,” said Victor. He stifled a sigh. “Then my outline.”

He hung up the phone and scrolled through his text messages from Yuuri. The latest one was from the one day a week Yuuri spent studying at the vet school’s clinical campus. It was a selfie, and he was covered in kittens.

Not for the first time, Victor registered that he really was incredibly cute.

  
11.04  
Incredibly cute!

11.10  
Yeah I love kittens that age! so tiny!

11.11  
Oh, there are kittens? I hadn’t noticed  
too busy looking at the hot guy

 

Victor grinned to himself. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be getting a reply anytime soon. In fact, he was sure that Yuuri was blushing scarlet and shoving his phone hastily into his pocket.

 

***

 

The next day – Wednesday – Victor skated up to Yuuri with his brightest smile already on his face.

“Hi!”

“H-hi Victor,” stammered Yuuri.

“How are you? You look great! Let me show you a picture of what Makkachin was doing this morning, it’s _precious_ ,” said Victor, throwing his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and drawing him close to look at his phone screen. He had decided on the strategy of overwhelming Yuuri early, giving him no chance to slither away until the classes officially started. Everyone liked looking at pictures of Makkachin, and Yuuri was no exception. While initially stiff under Victor’s arm, he melted as soon as he looked at the phone.

“Aw, that’s so cute!”

“Isn’t it?” agreed Victor enthusiastically.

“Her paws!”

“She’s missed you,” said Victor. “It feels like forever since last week. Can I be in your class today?”

Yuuri giggled nervously. “No! I’m teaching the beginners.”

“I’m a beginner.”

“Victor, I saw you practising spins.”

Victor widened his eyes, holding Yuuri at arm’s length. “Yuuri! Were you watching me practise on Friday? And you didn’t come to say hello?”

“I- Oh-” said Yuuri, turning a beautiful shade of pink.

Victor bit his lip, trying to hold in his laughter. To his surprise, it bubbled out of him anyway. He gave himself a mental reprimand for breaking character – he was usually better at play-acting. Yuuri’s face reflected the laughter, going soft and shy and happy as he realised he was being teased.

Victor felt his own cheeks heat slightly. Yuuri had a very attractive smile.

“The lessons are starting,” said Yuuri. “I have to go.”

“I’ll speak to you later,” said Victor.

 

***

 

During the lesson, Victor threw glances over to Yuuri’s handful of beginners whenever he could, and more than once caught Yuuri staring at him.

Victor’s companions in the more advanced class had noticed what was going on. They couldn’t really have helped it. Victor was being far from subtle.

“He’s just _lovely_ ,” he gushed to his fan club at every pause in the lesson. “We’ve been texting. Did you know he’s studying to be a vet?” He clasped his hands over his heart. “An animal lover! But he’s shy – or maybe he just doesn’t like me. I don’t think I’m ever going to get him to agree to go out with me.”

A little chorus of sighs came up from the group.

“Don’t worry, Victor,” said one of the mums. “We’ll help.”

 

***

 

It worked like a charm.

After the lesson, Victor’s usual fan club didn’t hang around to gossip. To a woman, they made their way across the ice to watch Yuuri give some final tips to his beginners. Victor grinned to himself and took a few lazy turns around the rink, gliding with as much grace as he could muster and pretending to be very engrossed with the correct position of his free leg. When he finally allowed himself to drift in Yuuri’s direction, Yuuri was surrounded by a cluster of people. As Victor approached he overheard exactly what he’d hoped to hear.

“He’s single, you know, and such a _nice_ boy. And ever so handsome, don’t you agree? ”

Yuuri mumbled something to the effect that yes, he did agree, but he really didn’t think it would work out. Victor took this as his cue to insinuate himself into the group.

“Yuuri,” he said, “would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

“Yes, he would,” chorused several women in perfect unison.

Yuuri gave the best impression of a rabbit in the headlights that a grown man on skates could possibly give. “Uh…” he said.

“Come on Yuuri,” said Janet. “It’s just dinner.”

“And it’s Victor. He’s lovely, we promise.”

“Give him a chance – you’ll have fun!”

“Quiet, you lot,” said Aleesha firmly. “Stop meddling and give them some privacy. Yuuri can make up his own mind.”

She shooed the women across the rink, where they formed a crowd at the barrier. Victor could still hear the faint chatter of voices, but he couldn’t make out the words.

Yuuri was still doing his rabbit impression.

“Well?” said Victor gently. “Would you have dinner with me?” He widened his eyes. “Please?”

“Uh,” said Yuuri again. He swallowed and managed a tiny smile. Once it had appeared, it spread and brightened until his face was almost glowing. “O-okay. Yes. I'd like that.”

Victor smiled back, suddenly far less comfortable. He told himself that this was different from lying to get someone into bed. It was one date, he would be a perfect gentleman, and it was for a good cause.

It was all perfectly fine.

 

***

 

There were three dog-friendly restaurants in Victor’s neighbourhood. He picked the most upmarket of them to make a reservation, and dressed with even more care than usual. The date was a means to an end, but he was determined that Yuuri would have a nice time, and that meant giving him nice things: an expensive dinner and the sight of Victor’s ass in tight pants.

“You know you won’t be able to get to him,” he told Ghost, “but you can watch him. That’s better than nothing.”

Yuuri was waiting at the bar when Victor arrived, looking both awkward and handsome in simple but formfitting jeans and a tight black t-shirt. Victor wondered who’d bullied him into them, and sent them a mental thank you.

“Oh, you brought Makkachin!” was the first thing Yuuri said.

Makkachin scampered over to greet him. Ghost stayed close to Victor’s trouser leg, trembling slightly.

“Of course! I wouldn’t deprive her of one of her favourite people,” said Victor.

When he had first declared that Makkachin particularly liked Yuuri he had been bullshitting for effect. Now he was beginning to think it was true. When they got to their table she lay down on Yuuri’s side, gazing lovingly up at him. Ghost lay at Victor’s feet, because that was the closest he could get to where he really wanted to be.

Yuuri, blushing prettily, avoided Victor’s eyes at first by ducking his head and talking fondly to Makkachin in Japanese. It was… well, surprisingly hot, actually. Something in Victor’s stomach was having pleased feelings at the sight. In the back of his mind, the thought kept cropping up: _beautiful boy loves my dog – yes, good._

Victor was the chatty type, but he also knew how to listen and how to draw people out. It was part of what made him a good writer – listen, observe, describe. As he listened to Yuuri he began to build a picture of a shy, sweet, kind young man with a streak of fierce determination that had propelled him overseas to study, to learn English and to follow his dreams. It didn’t sound like it had been easy. Anxiety issues, Victor guessed, though Yuuri never said it outright. Victor found himself warming to him, in a way he rarely warmed towards people he didn’t know well.

 _We could actually be friends_ , he thought, surprised at himself.

No. The focus of the evening shouldn’t really be Yuuri; It should be Ghost. And Yuuri was determinedly not talking about his dog.

Victor sighed inwardly, resigning himself, and gently steered the conversation into uncomfortably personal territory.

 

***

 

“Getting Makkachin was the best thing I ever did. She’s been a wonderful companion.”

Yuuri nodded along, wide-eyed and full of empathy.

Victor tilted his head and gave a sad smile he didn’t have to fake. “I was twenty-two when I moved here. My mama was living in Spain with her new husband, and my father and stepmother decided to move to Moscow for my little brother’s ballet training. St Petersburg didn’t feel like home anymore. I had to get out. It was the right time to move overseas, but I was lonely.”

 “I know how it feels,” said Yuuri. “Settling into a new country is hard.”

“I used the royalties from my first book to get a puppy. I ate cabbage soup and porridge for months so I could afford proper food for her.”

“You look after her beautifully. I’ve never met a dog so healthy and friendly,” said Yuuri, beaming at him. He ducked down to look under the table. “Aren’t you friendly, beautiful girl?”

Victor’s heart gave a little thump.

“How about you?” he said encouragingly when Yuuri reappeared. “When did you get your dog?”

Yuuri gave a light smile and shrugged. “Nothing special. We got him when I was a kid. He was just the family dog.”

 _Goddammit_ , thought Victor.

 

***

 

When Yuuri went to the bathroom, Victor called Chris.

“I need somewhere good to go dancing tonight,” he said.

“You _called_ me for a club recommendation? Haven’t you heard of texting?”

“This is an emergency,” said Victor, turning towards the restrooms to watch for Yuuri’s re-emergence. “I’m on a date. I need somewhere to take him where I can get him drunk.”

“Do we need to have a talk about the meaning of consent?”

Victor sighed. “I just need him to relax a little,” he said. “I don’t want to sleep with him.”

“Then why are you dating him?”

“I don’t want to sleep with him _tonight_ ,” Victor said hastily.

“It’s a Wednesday, you know. And I’m not your social secretary.”

“If you can’t help me I’ll take him to the closest place I find on Google.”

“Vitya, _no_ ,” protested Chris. “You’ll catch some horrible disease from the sticky floor. Alright – I’m going to a party tonight. I’ll get you on the guest list if I can meet your date.”

“Where?”

“I’ll text you the address,” said Chris, “because I don’t live in 1995.”

 

***

 

Yuuri was not entirely enthusiastic about going to a club, but Victor was implacable. As they walked to Victor’s place to drop off Makkachin and Ghost, Victor coaxed and cajoled and flirted until he got his own way. It wasn’t very difficult. He was guiltily aware by that point that Yuuri was well on the way to smitten.

The club was full of beautiful people in expensive clothes, swaying to the music or draped over each other in corners. Both of them got a lot of appreciative glances as they made their way towards the bar, but Yuuri obviously felt like he didn’t belong. He was wide-eyed and confused, sticking close enough that Victor took his hand to make matters easier.

To Victor’s mind, Yuuri certainly belonged among these beautiful people. Victor kept his mouth shut about that. Yuuri already looked as though he couldn’t quite believe he wasn’t dreaming, shooting sideways glances up at Victor. Extravagant compliments might not help matters. Instead, Victor ordered two champagne martinis. Yuuri gulped down the first so desperately that Victor handed him the second as well, and ordered another couple. By the time the bartender slid them across the counter, Yuuri’s glass was empty again.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, Yuuri finished his third drink and said, “Victor, let’s dance.”

As he spoke, his body was already moving. The rhythm pulsed through his limbs, heavy and sultry. His hips tilted and his shoulders rolled.

Victor’s mouth went dry.

It was _fun_. Sexy, yes, but far more than that. Yuuri glowed as he danced, his pure enthusiasm pulling Victor along, challenging him to copy the wilder, sillier moves. Victor hadn’t laughed so much in a long time.

“Buy me another drink,” Yuuri said, when they were both panting with exertion, clinging together to stay upright.

Victor nodded. _Operation: Relax Yuuri_ was going well.

As they were sipping their drinks by the bar, they were joined by Chris. He was wearing black leather pants and something purple and sparkly that might have been enough to hem a shirt but certainly couldn’t pass as one.

“Well look what we have here,” Chris drawled. “Vitya, introduce me.”

“Yuuri, this is Chris. Chris, meet Yuuri.”

Chris gave Yuuri a blatantly flirtatious once-over. “Hello, beautiful,” he said. “Vitya, I can see why he’s important to you.”

“Victor’s mentioned me?” asked Yuuri, looking pleased at the thought.

“Constantly,” lied Chris. He shot Victor a look that said _you owe me_. “Yuuri, dance with me.” He held out his hand.

Victor sighed. As he watched the two of them make their way to the dance floor, he pouted a little. He knew he was a good dancer, but Chris was an excellent one, professionally trained. Victor had seen what he could do, both on the dance floor and on a pole. He told himself to get a grip. This was about helping Ghost, not dating Yuuri – he had no reason to be getting jealous.

Still, as he watched the widening circle of space around Yuuri and Chris as people stopped dancing to watch, he couldn’t make himself feel entirely happy. He had a strong urge to tell the spectators, _‘He’s here with me, you know.’_

After a few songs, he was relieved to see Yuuri point in his direction, and Chris nod and lead the way back.

The dancing had given Yuuri’s fourth cocktail time to do its work. Yuuri was beaming and giggly as he tugged his hand out of Chris’s grip. “Victor!” he said delightedly, pressing himself against Victor and wrapping both arms around his neck. He was small but strong and warm and solid, and he fitted against Victor like he was made to be there. “Hello! Dance with me again!”

“Of course,” said Victor, scowling at Chris over the top of Yuuri’s head.

The music was slower by then, designed more for bump-and-grind than busting moves. Victor had to give himself a mental slap and make sure he didn’t let the dance get truly inappropriate.

Yuuri snuggled as close as Victor would let him. “I’m really happy you asked me out,” he confided. “You’re my favourite author, and you’re so nice, and so, _so_ hot, and you have Makkachin. You have a poodle, Victor. You’re perfect. I don’t know why you like me but I’m glad.”

Victor had the unaccustomed experience of feeling like a total asshole. He had no idea what to say.

“I was having a bad day when I met you, and you made everything better,” said Yuuri, resting his head against Victor’s shoulder. He sounded almost as though he were drifting off to sleep as he danced. “Victor…? Be… be my boyfriend. Please.”

 _Shit_.

It was lucky that Yuuri seemed too drowsy to expect an answer, because Victor had momentarily forgotten how to formulate a coherent sentence. He let them move to the music for another few bars before he pulled himself together enough to say, “I’m going to take you home.”

Yuuri gave a semi-conscious snuffle that could have been an ‘okay’.

As they were getting their coats at the coat check, Chris tapped Victor on the shoulder.

“Can I talk with you for a moment?”

Victor winced, expecting the worst. He propped his sleepy armful against a wall and allowed Chris to drag him to one side.

“Vitya, are you playing, or are you serious? That boy likes you. A lot.”

“It’s complicated.”

Chris's expression was grave. “You’re going to break his heart,” he said.

“I’ve broken hearts before. You’ve never complained.”

“He’s not like the other people you’ve dated. He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.”

“I know what I’m doing,” said Victor.

It was a lie. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing anymore.

 

***

 

 _You’re a terrible person_ , Victor told himself, as he gave the cab driver his own address.

The right thing to do would be to take Yuuri home and let him sleep it off, but Victor’s master plan hinged on taking advantage of Yuuri’s alcohol-induced openness to learn more about Ghost. Ghost and Makkachin were at Victor’s place. Therefore, Yuuri needed to be at Victor’s place too.

Yuuri didn’t object. Yuuri didn’t even open his eyes until the cab stopped and Victor – giving in to temptation – tickled him a little to wake him up.

“What? Victor – stop – ah!”

“Come on – time to get out!”

“Where are we?” mumbled Yuuri, looking confusedly around.

“My place. I’m going to make you some coffee.”

“Oh.” Yuuri smiled up at him, soft-edged. “Okay! I like coffee. And you. I like you more than coffee.”

“I like you too,” said Victor, steering him through the revolving door and towards the lift. Yuuri tucked neatly against him, just the right size, warm and cuddly, smelling faintly and not unpleasantly of sweat and booze.

As they went into Victor’s apartment Makkachin came bouncing over to greet them. Ghost came too. He had to back away as Victor and Yuuri walked forwards, but his tail was wagging.

Victor glanced at the couch, decided that Yuuri would fall asleep instantly if left alone on it, and pushed Yuuri into the kitchen. Once he was sure Yuuri would stay upright, he turned to his fancy coffee machine. He didn’t understand most of its functions, but he knew which buttons to press to make a basic cup of coffee.

“Who’s that?”

Victor glanced up from his task to find Yuuri pointing to a picture stuck on the fridge – a blond boy in black tights and a white shirt, balanced with one leg high and his arms raised, scowling like he was planning the photographer’s bloody murder.

Victor smiled fondly. “That’s my half-brother, Yuri. He probably looks a little different now. I haven’t seen him in a while. I call him a lot, so he doesn’t forget me.”

“He looks grouchy.”

“He’s a kitten when you get to know him,” said Victor. _Small, unpredictable, and well-equipped with claws._

“My name’s Yuuri too,” declared Yuuri.

“I know, dorogoi,” said Victor, trying to hide his laugh. He took the two cups of coffee over to the couch and set them on the table. “Come here.”

Stumbling a little, Yuuri successfully navigated the few steps from the kitchen and sat down, looking pleased with himself. This, Victor decided, was probably as relaxed as he was likely to get.

“Talking of names,” he said, “what was your dog’s name?”

Yuuri reached over to tap Victor on the chest. “His name was Victor, like you! Vicchan for short.”

At the words, Ghost – Vicchan – hopped to his feet and gave a silent, hopeful bark.

“That’s a great name! Who chose it?”

“I did,” said Yuuri.

“When did he die?”

Yuuri had to think hard about this, counting on his fingers. Eventually he managed, “Um… six weeks? I think. Last month. Not long before I met you.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“He was only a dog. I hadn’t seen him in years.”

Victor stared at him, baffled. Was _that_ the reason that Vicchan couldn’t get closer? Because Yuuri hadn’t really cared? But the sadness of the loss had been written on his face that first day in the park. It was unmistakeable.

“There’s no such thing as only a dog,” he said. “Makkachin means the world to me. I think Vicchan meant the world to you.”

Yuuri shook his head. A glint of tears in his eyes was swiftly blinked away.

“He wasn’t the family dog, was he?” Victor pressed. “He was your dog.”

“He belonged to all of us.”

“Who trained him when he was a puppy? Whose bed did he sleep on?”

“That doesn’t matter,” snapped Yuuri. “He was a _family_ dog. He loved them just as much – Mom and Dad and Mari.”

Victor didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. It only took a sceptical head-tilt to keep Yuuri talking.

“He was happy with them. He wouldn’t have been happy here, in a little apartment, on his own all day. I couldn’t have… I couldn’t…”

Yuuri gave a sob. Victor, who was usually disconcerted by other people’s tears, found it quite natural to gather him close. “Of course you couldn’t,” he murmured, as Makkachin settled her muzzle comfortingly on Yuuri’s knee. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s _not_. I left home four years ago. I haven’t been back since. I left him and then he died and I wasn’t… I wasn’t there.”

Yuuri was very good for cuddling. Victor was so focused on the warm body in his arms that he almost didn’t notice Vicchan creeping across the couch. He was two feet away from Yuuri, then one, with his intangible feet in Victor’s lap.

“He was happy,” said Victor. “He had a good life. You couldn’t have kept him with you. But he was still yours.”

Yuuri gave another sob. Vicchan took another step.

“Don’t deny what you meant to each other. That isn’t fair to either of you.”

“I… I can’t…”

“Say it, Yuuri.”

“He was mine,” said Yuuri.

Vicchan leapt into Yuuri’s lap. He put his paws on Yuuri’s chest and covered his face with ecstatic licks. Then he settled down with the sigh of a dog who was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Victor found himself blinking back tears of his own. “He loved you,” he said. “He’ll always be with you.”

Yuuri gave a watery laugh. “That’s a sappy thing to say. But… I feel a lot better now.”

“I’m glad,” said Victor. He realised with a shock that he meant it wholeheartedly. Somehow, Yuuri feeling better – feeling good – had become incredibly important to him.

Not long after that, Yuuri fell asleep in Victor’s arms. He made a very nice armful, but it wasn’t a comfortable position for the whole night. After a little while, Victor eased himself out so he could lay Yuuri down properly on the couch and tuck a blanket over him. Vicchan melted easily through the blanket so it looked just as though he were lying on top of it. He looked different now. His colourless form had developed a golden glow and he seemed a trifle faded, out of focus, but he was definitely still there, as close to Yuuri as he could possibly be.

Victor sat on the floor and held out his hands to Makkachin. She came to him and put her paws on his shoulders so he could hug her. Her tail wagged lazily and she licked him on the ear.

“Maybe you’ll stay with me like that,” he said to her.

He didn’t know if that would make losing her any more bearable. Perhaps Yuuri was lucky not to be able to see.

 

***

 

The next morning, Victor emerged from his bedroom to find Yuuri still fast asleep on the couch under the blanket, and Vicchan still cuddled up to him in a soft golden glow. Yuuri’s mouth was hanging open, leaving a little damp patch of drool on the pillow. He was making strange, whistling snores. His hair was a disaster.

He was the most gorgeous thing Victor had ever seen.

Victor ducked back into the bedroom, paced around it for a few unsettled minutes, and then called his brother.

“If I manipulated a guy into dating me so I could get information, but now I want to date him for real, what should I do?” he asked. “Should I just keep on dating him, or is that weird? I don’t know if he likes the real me.”

“ _Ugh_ , you shithead,” said Yuri. “You dated someone to get information? That’s fucked up.”

“I was being altruistic, actually. It was a good deed.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’re too young to understand moral complexities,” said Victor. “Tell me how to figure out if he actually likes me.”

“Your life is the plot of a teen drama. Aren’t you, like, thirty-five?”

Victor didn’t yell that he was twenty-seven, because yelling was something only children like Yuri did. “You don’t have to be mean to me to get my attention, Yurochka,” he said. “I love you anyway.”

“I don’t want your attention!”

“I promise I’ll listen when you tell me all about your inappropriate boyfriend.”

“He just wants to be friends,” grumbled Yuri. “He thinks I’m too young.”

“He’s right,” said Victor approvingly. “I like him. You have my blessing to date him.”

“Shut up, old geezer, you’re not making any sense.”

This was patently true, but Victor didn’t particularly care. “Let’s focus on my problem,” he said.

“ _Fine_. What kind of things did you do to make him like you in the first place?”

“Well, he already liked my books. And he thinks I’m hot. And he loves Makkachin.”

“Makkachin doesn’t suck,” admitted Yuri.

“And I… was nice to him. I was interested in what he had to say. I told him he’s special.”

“Is he?”

“Very. And I took him to dinner and told him stories about my life. We danced. We had a heart-to-heart about his dead dog.”

“That’s romantic,” drawled Yuri. “Whatever. Did you actually, like, lie about anything?”

Victor hesitated. “Not as such,” he hedged. “I internet stalked him a lot, though.”

“ _Everyone_ does that,” said Yuri, in the kindly tone of someone explaining Uber to a ninety-year-old. “If he spent a whole evening with you and doesn’t hate you, you might have an actual chance.”

“Hmm…” said Victor. “Honesty is important, though. Do you think he’d be mad at me if I told him the truth?”

“ _Yes,_ you utter freak!” yelled Yuri.

Well, that decided that, Victor thought. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re my favourite, Yurochka. I’ll buy you an ice cream next time I see you.”

Yuri hung up on him.

 

***

 

It was a good two hours before Yuuri groaned, sat up, and peered around, squinting, to find his glasses. Having located them on the coffee table, he put them on and surveyed his surroundings with bleary, bloodshot eyes.

Victor, watching from his desk, gave him a cheery, “Good morning, Yuuri!”

Yuuri blinked slowly at him. “Muuuurghm?” he said pathetically.

It was very familiar to Victor, having someone wake up horribly hungover in his apartment. Usually they woke up in his bed, but the principle was the same. Provide water, aspirin, coffee, a towel, and a nudge in the direction of the shower. Only once these steps were complete could there be any thought of conversation.

Yuuri eventually emerged from the bathroom, damp-haired, dressed in the jeans from the night before and a t-shirt of Victor’s that was slightly too big on him. He was still breathtakingly gorgeous. He also looked extremely embarrassed.

“Um… hi,” he said.

“Hi,” said Victor, smiling helplessly.

“I… uh… I don’t really remember what happened last night.”

 _I think maybe I started falling in love with you,_ Victor thought to himself. _That’s what happened._

“There was… the club? And then…? We came back here, and…?”

“We had coffee and talked,” said Victor soothingly.

“Oh,” said Yuuri, looking relieved.

“You told me about your dog. Vicchan.”

Yuuri looked startled for a moment, and then his face screwed up in a frown of concentration. “I sort of remember that,” he said. He met Victor’s eyes uncomfortably. “Did I cry?”

“A little. I think you needed to.”

Yuuri nodded ruefully. “I probably did. Thank you for listening.”

“Any time.”

“Really, it means a lot – with Makkachin, I know you love her. You understand.”

“Yes.”

Yuuri’s smile was awkward but genuine. “Anything else I should know?” he asked.

Victor took a deep breath. This was the point of no return.

“You asked me to be your boyfriend,” he said.

Yuuri gaped. A flush crept up his neck to his cheeks, his ears, his forehead. “Oh god,” he said.

Victor found himself unaccustomedly nervous. “Do you still want to?” he asked. He took a tentative step forwards and put his hand on Yuuri’s arm. “If you do, we can be. I’d like that.”

“You would?” said Yuuri.

Victor moved in even closer. This time, he brushed his knuckles over Yuuri’s cheekbone, curled his other arm gently around Yuuri’s back. “Is that okay?”

“It’s very okay,” Yuuri whispered, and hid his face in Victor’s shoulder.

Both dogs were watching them. Both tails were wagging.

 

***

 

That Friday, Victor was back at the rink. He was skating in his own little world, a world that was fizzing with ideas and excitement, but he was jolted out of it abruptly when a figure swept past him, around him, danced a few steps, flicked into a lightning-fast jump, and spun to a halt.

Victor grinned. “Show-off!” he called.

Yuuri skated towards him with long, graceful strokes, and stopped cleanly with a little scrape of blades.

“I want to look good in front of you.”

“You always look good,” said Victor, manoeuvring himself so he could pull Yuuri in for a hello hug.

“Hi Victor,” Yuuri mumbled into his shoulder.

“You should call me Vitya,” Victor told him. “Victor is easier in English, but Vitya is my name to people who know me.”

“Vitya,” said Yuuri, as though he was testing how the word felt in his mouth. He tilted his head and looked up through his lashes. A faint blush stained his cheeks. “I like it.”

Victor’s heart gave yet another little thump, as was its habit around Yuuri.

“I have to go,” said Yuuri, making a disconsolate face. “I can see my pupil getting her skates on.”

“That’s okay. I’m busy anyway.”

“Busy?” said Yuuri, puzzled.

“I’m thinking about my next book.”

 

***

 

Victor had been expecting Yakov to call first thing on Monday morning, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“How is this ‘project’ of yours?” Yakov growled, sarcastic quotation marks perfectly audible.

“Oh, never mind that,” said Victor. “Yakov, I have wonderful news! I’m in love! I need to spend every minute of every day making him feel like the most precious thing on this earth.”

Yakov groaned. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that your outline will have to wait until you fall out of love again.”

“What a mean thing to say,” said Victor serenely. “I’m not going to fall out of love. My outline? Hmm. I’d almost forgotten about that.”

“ _Vitya!_ ”

Victor laughed and tapped his laptop trackpad. “I’m sending it to you now.”

The book would be a ghost story. He was feeling inspired.

 

**Epilogue**

 

Nearly five months had passed since Victor and Yuuri’s first date (which Victor privately counted slightly differently than Yuuri did). Victor’s life had changed a lot in that time. It held less clubbing, less shopping, and much more cooking meals for an overworked student vet, cuddling on the couch while going through flashcards of diseases, strolls in the park holding hands while Makkachin played with an indistinct, fading Vicchan, Skype calls where he practised his shaky Japanese with Yuuri’s parents – and writing, writing, writing like a man possessed.

As he let himself and Makkachin back into the apartment after her evening walk, he called out a hello to Yuuri.

“Still reading!” Yuuri called back from the bedroom.

Vicchan immediately flung himself towards the voice, disappearing through the wall. By the time Victor had opened the door to peek inside, Vicchan was licking Yuuri’s nose in a way that would have completely obscured Yuuri’s view of his Kindle.

Yuuri glanced up and gave Victor a shaky, tearful smile. “Go away,” he said. “I’m not done.”

Victor left him alone.

Yuuri was the first person to read the book in its entirety. Yakov had already seen a few chapters, but Victor had kept most of it back, not to be infuriating (though Yakov had been infuriated) but because Yuuri had the right. It had been written for him. In a way, it was a gift.

Victor wasn’t worried about whether Yuuri would like it. The book was _good_. It was fresh and clean, simple, and it flowed in the way that a story should. It was exactly the bestseller Yakov had wanted. People wouldn’t be able to put it down. But far more important than that, Victor loved it. He was proud of it. Writing it, he’d felt alive.

Victor was in the middle of chopping vegetables for dinner when Yuuri emerged, still tearstained, but beaming. He crossed to Victor’s side and wrapped his arms around him.

“It’s wonderful, Vitya,” he said. “It’s my favourite thing you’ve ever written. You’ve woven in all of these impossible things, but it still feels honest. It feels like… _us_.”

Victor nodded. It wasn’t their story, not exactly, but there were aspects that rang true. He was pretty sure that every new book he wrote would contain some aspect of Yuuri.

“It’s only a first draft,” he said, “but I’m happy with it.”

“I wish I could give you some kind of… intelligent literary critique, but I can’t even find words to say what I like about it. I just love it.”

“You don’t have to critique it. I just wanted you to read it.”

“Thank you so much,” said Yuuri. He kissed Victor on the cheek. “And thank you for cooking _again_. What can I do?”

Victor scraped the onions into a pan to sizzle gently. “Stir,” he said. “Don’t let them brown.”

Dinner was quick to make – just pasta and a salad. They sat on the couch to eat, in a way Victor’s mother never would have allowed, Victor pretending to watch TV while Yuuri focused on his neglected textbooks and Makkachin side-eyed Victor’s plate, hoping for scraps. It felt very domestic, very comfortable. So what if their relationship had started with a deception? It was the realest thing Victor could have ever imagined.

Victor set his plate down on the floor for Makkachin to lick. Yuuri elbowed him gently in the ribs.

“You spoil her.”

“So do you,” Victor retorted, leaning back into the cushions. Then, out of nowhere, he asked Yuuri, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Yuuri looked up from his work, surprised. “No,” he said, “of course not.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not? Because they’re not real. The world doesn’t work like that. Why? Do you?”

“Yes.”

Yuuri stared at him, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” said Victor.

Yuuri’s brow furrowed and he laughed a little nervously. “Well… okay. You’re much more imaginative than I am. Maybe it helps with the writing. If you want to believe in ghosts, Vitya, you go right ahead and believe in ghosts.”

Victor laughed back at him. “I will,” he said, finding that he didn’t mind at all what Yuuri believed.

Maybe he’d find a way to tell Yuuri about his psychic tendencies one day, and maybe he wouldn’t. Yuuri already knew the things that really mattered:  ‘bestselling fantasy author,’ ‘great hair,’ ‘extrovert,’ ‘dog lover,’ and, of course, ‘Yuuri Katsuki’s adoring boyfriend.’

Victor settled his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and let his eyes flicker down to where Vicchan – not much more than a golden outline these days – was curled comfortably in Yuuri’s lap.

“Good boy,” he said in Russian.

“Hmm?” said Yuuri.

“Nothing. Nothing important.”


End file.
